


"Philip..."

by InsecurelyPerfect



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Eliza gets mad at alexander, F/M, kinda sad, like 1970s time period, like burn mad but with actually speaking to him, modern but not too modern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsecurelyPerfect/pseuds/InsecurelyPerfect
Summary: Philip Hamilton can't sleep at night, but ends up overhearing a conversation not meant for his ears.  *****A prompt for my Writing For Film And Media in the 21st Century class and I was really proud of it and decided to share it with the world :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is being told from the perspective of Philip Hamilton. It's unclear until the end who is listening, but I'm telling you now, it's Philip.  
> Maria Reynolds is not being hated on here, she is one of my favourite characters, this is just about how Eliza is pissed at Hammy Ham for messing up big time. :)

I rolled over, facing the clock.   _2:16 am._ I let out a sigh, shutting my eyes, begging myself to fall asleep.  I abhorred staying up this late; it wasn't good.  My stomach growled and I figured if I fed myself, then I'd be able to sleep.

I climbed out of my bed, trying not to wake my younger siblings, and snuck downstairs.  There was something unusual.  My father was speaking - not that  _that_ was unusual, he was always talking - it was the time, it was the tone, and it was how he was speaking in a tone I never heard before.  I couldn't tell exactly what was being said just yet, so I went down a couple more steps, and I was able to get a view of the kitchen, where my father was on his knees, begging to my mother, who had her arms crossed over her pregnant stomach, and a hard look on her face.

". . . Eliza,  _please,_ I know I really messed up, but I couldn't stop myself.  I promise that I tried.  I know it's not an excuse, but I missed you so much and she invited me.  I tried to leave, I swear, but she kept persisting.  It was getting late and harder and harder.  I know what you think.  I'm so sorry my love." 

_What is he talking about?_

My mother's face twisted into hurt and pure rage.  "You  _miss_ me so you go and  _cheat_ on me?  With a woman who is so much younger than I?" she spat and my father winced.  He cheated?  Alexander Hamilton cheated on Elizabeth Shuyler?  "You've lost your right to call me 'my love' or any other nicknames - including Eliza."  Ouch.

My father's face shattered.  He looked as if he were going to give up, which was definitely odd for him.

They were both crying by now; wet breaths coming from each other, sniffling, silent tears, and staring.  Neither of them said anything for the longest time.  Dad moved around Mom, trying to reach for the alcohol.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?  You cheat on me - for an entire  _month_ \- in our  _bed_ ,  _publish_ it, while I was pregnant with one of your kids, and you are the one drinking?  If I weren't pregnant and didn't have so many kids to look after, I would probably drink myself to death because of you!  God, Alexander, do you even know how badly you screwed up?"  His only response was to take his drink and pour it into the sink, getting two more glasses and filling them both up with water, one with ice for Mom.

He flashed her a questionable, half-assed smile.  "Because I know you like ice?"  She glared at him through her tears, yet accepting the drink from her husband anyway, downing her water almost instantly.

"You know you're lucky my dad died, right?"  Her voice was soft, broken almost.  She gripped the glass with both hands, lightly turning it in circles and did not make eye contact with Dad.  "He would  _kill_ you if he knew.  Ha, the only thing he said to you was to be true.  What didn't you do?  Be true."

I knew my mother was furious with my father, but I also knew her well enough to know she loved finally getting to read him down like this.  I mean, I couldn't blame her.  She put everything into their relationship and she only deserved the best, which my father was not.  I get that he was stressed because Mr. Jefferson was giving him a tough time at work, but that still didn't call for cheating.  He should've waited for my mother. 

I watched on, seeing as my father was sobbing now, breaking more and more with every word spoken.

"Eliza. . .beth, I-" Dad started, but Mom wouldn't hear it.

"No!  You do  _not_ get to apologise! You have a shitty reason for doing so, need I say it again?  I was  _pregnant,_ you  _published_ your affair, it was in  _our bed,_ and you  _cannot_ just say two words that are also pathetic excuses and expect me to fall back into your arms like putty!  Get your shit and sleep in your office because, frankly, I don't feel like seeing your face!"  Mom was full on screaming by now.  Her face was blotchy red and puffy and tears soaked her face.  My father only coward at her words, shrinking into himself, staying silent.  " _GO!"_ She pointed up the stairs, her voice cracking at the end of her sentence.

It didn't occur to me that their room was upstairs until my father was in front of me.  "Philip," he breathed.  A tear fell down his cheek as a curse left his lips.  "How much did you hear?"  I looked down, not wanting to speak to my father.  "You heard enough, didn't you?" he asked, but it came out as more of a statment.  I made myself lift my head up.  I locked eyes with and nodded, barley noticeable.

My father crouched down to my level and wiped a tear from my eye.  "You don't want to speak to me, do you?"  My heart broke at his words, but I was too upset with him for hurting my mother.  I shook my head, not being able to hold myself from hugging him.  I mentally scolded myself.  I'm the oldest.  I needed to stay strong for my siblings once they found out, but here I was, hugging the cheater - and crying into his neck.  Fourteen was too young for someone to have to help care for children.

We pulled away from each other and he helped me up.  "C'mon, let's get you to bed," he said and I obliged, forgetting about my hunger, "and I'm begging you not to tell the other children."  I nodded, walking with him hand-in-hand to my room.

In bed, I still cried, and eventually fell asleep to the sounds of my father choking back sobs as he packed.

The last thing I ever heard my father, Alexander Hamilton, say was, "Good night, Philip.  I love you."


End file.
